


Retro Future

by orphan_account



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Heist, M/M, On the Run, Stuck in the past, Time Travel, i can never not be dramatic so this was born, i saw the movie and i had to write something, this is a bit of a serious crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A time traveler, a writer, and a boxer walk into a bar......and take a little vacation to the seventies.





	Retro Future

**2018**

Mika starts every Sunday morning (by morning she means late afternoon) with a swish of tequila and the enumeration of the cliches life might bring her today. For many, the end of the week is a lazy, tame affair. Never for Mika, who might barely have more of a life than a hermit, found it to be her "party" day. She would hunch herself over a good book, slippers neatly positioned in front of the couch, and the old hand me down flatscreen playing Law and Order reruns in the back. It was the craziest thing she allowed herself to do. Every other hour over her life she slaved over her projects that had been rejected multiple times by publishers, mindlessly typed out soulless pieces for tabloids and magazines, and edited what commissions she received online.

So, when Mika is comfortably lounging across her beat-up couch, stained with wine and coffee alike, snuggled tight into a bath robe that reeks of BO, the last thing she wants to do is  _move_. The landline lets out a shrill  _bring!_  as the detectives on screen dash in pursuit of a criminal and as Mika reaches the end of the page of a self-help book she bought in one last cry for help. With a throaty yell, she tumbles from her perch and in her hurry to get up knocks her head against the coffee table. The book falls to the floor, opened to the chapter titled "The Past is the Past." Hurrying to her feet in a more haphazard manner than scrambled eggs, her eyes bubble with tears, a throbbing pain akin to the sonar of a submarine pulsing against her skull. Mika's mother had always said that she had a thick-head, but one that was made of layers of cotton.

Since her apartment is about as spacious as a broom closet the journey to the phone is blessedly short.  _God_ , she misses her cell. Too bad she had dropped it into the toilet in a drunken stupor. The fiasco had started when she used the cell as a microphone to sing to Brittany Spears. Unsurprisingly, she had tripped.

For now, until she can save up for a new one, the landline will have to do. The mad sprint draws to a conclusion as she crashes into the bar where the phone sits. One leg mid fall, she snatches the phone and answers as she slams into the carpeted floor with a thud. "Hello?" the greeting comes out as a dry, pitched wheeze.

"Sonny, here, doll." Mika smiles upon hearing the musical drawl of her best friend. It quickly transitions into a grimace when her back starts to feel the effects of her fall. "You good?"

"Peachy," or at least that what she attempts to say, it comes out half garbled groan. Using her free arm, Mika grabs onto the bar stool next to her head and pulls up. Like her it has seen better days since it quivers under Mika's menial weight. "What's up?"

"It's date night at the bar," a snap echoes over the line which Mika can only assume is Sonny's trademark baseball bubblegum. "You should come. Wait, no, scratch that. You  _are_ coming."

Mika's eyes land on the TV, which shows an interrogation room with a crying suspect and a barking officer. She'd much rather entertain herself with mild fantasies than have to endure the same treatment occurring on screen. "I can't."

"Listen, I'm not taking no for an answer." Pause. "Plus, it's quite...  _tepid_  down here."

"Big word." She twists her hair around her finger, around and around, "Well, the answer's still no."

"I was sick and tired of seeming like a blockhead next to your damn Socrates bull— so, I started doing that word of the day thing. Hold on, customer."

There's a dull thrum of clamor that comes from the other line, the clink of glass and the rush of alcohol being poured. Mika hums as she waits. The tune reminds her of elevator music and it hits her like a punch in the gut. She's living her life passing floor after floor, never once stepping out. She just stands there watching as the numbers climb. The longer she waited the longer the journey back would be. Although she wasn't quite sure where she'd be going back to but she was spooked nonetheless.

"Hi, back." Sonny seems winded if the little gasps are anything to go by. She gets breathless when she's angry. Mika's hand tightens around the phone. "Some asshole tried to through his drink at me. Victor threw his sorry ass out."

"I'll go."

"Really?" Her voice rises an octave. "I thought I was going to have to blackmail you with those old photos of you in cosplay."

"You wouldn't dare."

Sonny's response is a lively laugh, "See you later alligator— I'll call you an Uber."

Before Mika can even protest, Sonny has hung up. Classic of her friend to baby her. She sighs, pinching her nose. What kind of adult was she? She never left her apartment, couldn't even manage a phone call to get take-out let alone get a taxi or ride public transit. Her parents helped pay a chunk of her bills since writing wasn't really working out and her 9-5 at the bookstore didn't rake in much cash. Looking around her, not one corner of her living space was clean enough to even begin to appear livable. A stack of pizza boxes (courtesy of Sonny's calls) stands tall besides her TV, which stands on an unpacked moving box from her college dorm. Dishes pile up in the sink and candy wrappers assail the carpet like fallen soldiers on a battlefield.

"Fuck me," Mika mutters and goes to change into actual clothes.

——

"You really need to get a cell again," Sonny greets, hair wild and free, lips painted ruby red with what can only be assumed to be expensive lipstick. The woman didn't do cheap. She could afford those luxuries, though, with the large sums she pooled from her career as a well-known and adored boxer. Being a bartender was temporary. "My brother really insists you switch to Android, he's an absolute Google slave. Of course, he works for them. So."

The smaller woman ushers Mika into the roar of noise inside the bar. She has to shout to be heard, "I thought you said it was  _tepid_?"

Her friend winks, then kisses her on the cheek. "I'm a dirty liar."

With a tug, she guides her to the bar and pats a seat and pushes Mika down onto it. In one fluid motion, muscles stretched taut in the movement, Sonny hops up and over the bar. As soon as she's steadied herself, she leans across the counter with her head in her hand. "What will you have tonight, darling?"

Mika opens her mouth to say water but is interrupted by Sonny pressing her calloused finger to her lips. Her friend shakes her head, chunky neon green earrings swaying in tandem with her. "Have some fun."

"Vodka."

Sonny rolls her eyes, "So predictable." With practice ease she tosses a silver bottle into the aid and catches it. Then she tilts it back, popping open the cork and letting the clear liquid stream into a shot glass.

Mika knocks it back, swallowing it in go. It goes down burning but she enjoys the tingle in her throat. Sonny fills it up again as soon as she puts if down.

Raising her eyebrow, Mika puts the glass to her lips, "It's almost like you want to see me get shit-faced."

"I like holding your hair back as you throw up. It's soft," Sonny sighs, a pout forming on her lips. "That's, like, the only time you ever let me touch you."

Just imaging hands on her, Mika shivers, "You know why."

Sonny's eyes darken, going from a soft caramel to the steely brown bark of an ancient tree that refuses to step aside. Her fists clench until they go white.

"Gum. Now."

"I wasn't going to do anything," is Sonny's reply. She pops in a chunk of gum anyway and chews hard, jaw grinding back and forth. Between smacks, she utters, "It's stupid anyway to think that gum's out of all things is gonna stop me."

"Your therapist said you needed something to center you." Mika twiddles her thumbs, refusing to meet her friend's eyes.

"I don't even know why I still pay that cook." A sigh leaves her lips, "But, if I wanna keep on boxing the league said I needed to get her approval."

Her reply is softer than a summer breeze, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Sonny's hand takes her own and runs her thumb across the plains of smooth skin. "It's not your fault, anyway. You apologize again and we might have to go at it in the ring."

That coaxes a laugh out of Mika. Sonny pushes another shot towards her, "I gotta go serve other customers but you drink as much as you want. It's on me."

Her friend is gone in a whirlwind of fire engine red and bouncy curls. Alone, Mika reaches for the shot, her hand tremors as she prepares for the backlash of the next drink. Without Sonny's soothing rasp, the vibrant beat of the techno in the bar threatens to short circuit her dusty old walkman of a brain. Just as she's about to drown the confused static of pain with alcohol, a man is shoved from the dancing crowd and knocks into Mika. She goes down like a bowling pin.

For the second time that day, she lands on her ass. Said body part isn't happy about it as it groans it complaints in the premonitions of bruises. The shot glass vomits its contents onto her thin t-shirt, soaking through the cotton to reveal her bra. Mika flushes as the lacy entrapment is exposed; it was a gift from her grandma to encourage her to be promiscuous enough to ensnare a boyfriend. Suddenly, her skin crawls as if an armada of cameras have swiveled their protruding eyes towards her. Gritting her teeth until her jaw aches, Mika wills for the growing sapling tears to stay within the womb of her eyes.

"Oh my," comes a preciously accented lilt, "I'm terribly sorry."

A man stands above her, the one who had knocked her over, with a hand outstretched. Mika blanches, scooting unconsciously away from the man. However, her hand betrays her and inches towards his and in seconds his hand envelops her and yanks her to her feet. He has a pearly smile but his eyes are lost in orbit around some distant world.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah." She nods long and hard enough that the jerking of her head pulls a muscle in her neck.

"This guy giving you trouble?" Sonny shoulders her way between Mika and the stranger, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

Mika almost snaps in response, she can take care of herself, but she knows Sonny is coming from a place of love. A sigh parts her lips, "He didn't do anything."

The man nods in affirmation, the movement is languid like that of a cat, "I was helping her up."

Sonny has already tuned him out as she turns to assess Mika. She sees the spill on her shirt and quickly shrugs of her crimson leather jacket. Disregarding Mika's protests Sonny guides her shaking arms through the sleeves and zips it up. With a smirk, she leans back and puts her hands on her hips, "You look hot."

"Yeah, right!" Mika snorts and playfully kicks Sonny's heeled foot. "I'm practically  _polar_. In terms of attractiveness, I'm subzero."

A heated reply is hot on Sonny's lips when the man next to them swears loudly. Together their heads swivel to face him. Sonny's eyebrow is quirked in question. Meanwhile, Mika sees the crowd part to make way for a bulldozer bald man with murder written clearly across his stormy features. She directs Sonny's attention in his direction, to witness four more men flanking him. Her friend hisses and marches over to the stranger, "What the fuck did you do to piss off Sullivan? Huh?"

The man gulps, "We had a disagreement about the price of  _valuables_."

"Christ!" Sonny grabs his hand and Mika's and practically drags them behind the bar and ducks them beneath the counter. "The fuck you mean by valuables?"

"I mean something that is worth more than anything you could dream of," he replies, pulling something from his pocket. Oddly, it's a pen.

A hand slams on the counter causing it to quake above their heads. Mika lets out a yelp and presses herself against the back of the wall. The bald man's coal black pupils hone on in her like the scope of a sniper rifle. A mutation between a snarl and a grin peel back his thinning lips to reveal a row of gold teeth. From his side he conjures a handgun and points it right at Mika's head.

"Give me the jewels, Jax! Or Pocahontas here gets colonized!"

"I'm from  _India_ , jackass." The words spill out of her like oil into the Gulf.

Sullivan, who she assumes is going to be her murderer, just laughs, the sound not unlike a hyena. He clicks of the safety and the click stops the beating of her heart. Someone in the crowd must have noticed because screaming has started. "You've got a mouth. Too bad I couldn't figure out what else it could do."

Mika closes her eyes, ready for the bang and the whimper.  _Pathetic_ , she thinks to herself. She lived her life as nothing more than a fly on a wall and now, thanks to her fixation, the swatted fast approaches. Briefly, she wonders if she'll be born as a violet in the next life, since she had spent her current one as a wallflower. Then there's the click of a pen and a searing white light that not even her eyelids can block her from.   
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tbh this is probably gonna end up some weird romcom dramedy scifi mutation
> 
> this chapter was a lil eh but hEY NOW EXPOSITION IS MOSTLY OVER !! (There will still be bits and pieces but we'll be moving into the main plot so)
> 
> the character of Jax will be further explained so don't worry the shit that happened at the end is important not random


End file.
